Not Especially Swedish

This was one of those one-off, never to be duplicated sort of dinners, based as it was on leftovers and randomness. Now that I think of it, though, isn't that true for all of our efforts? So this meal had universal significance, and spoke to the very core of the Human Condition.

Also, it had meatballs in it.

I took some ground turkey and seasoned it with garlic, spices, and herbs (minced fennel fronds featured prominently, on account of I hate to throw them away but there are always so damn many on each bulb) and set them to brown in a skillet with some ghee. I had turned all the leftover chicken bones into a simple stock earlier in the day, so that was ready to go, and I ladled some of it into a saucepan with the leftover kabocha chunks and blasted it all smooth. Meanwhile, I sweated diced fennel, turnip, burdock, carrot, and onion, then added a bit of stock and let it all soften. And I made a pot of brown rice, because we're filthy, filthy hippies.

Once the meat was cooked, I poured in some blackcurrant brandy and flamed off the alcohol, then removed the meat. I sprinkled flour on the hot fat and stirred it into a roux. I added stock to gravify it, then stirred the result into the squash mixture. It all came together nicely; the meatballs were plenty flavorful, but, being turkey, needed some sauce to fill in for the near-total lack of fat. And the silky, glistening vegetables jumped right into this sweet purée with reckless abandon. It all made for excellent leftovers the next day, stirred together with more stock to make a thick, wonderful soup.